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tiny vesselsgod cried for us that afternoon
on the rocks, if I could be so
selfish; you had your hands
grasping at my empty vapors before
I’d had the chance to whisper
to you. I see you
shaking. I know you’re
hungry and I know
the temperature of your
eyes when you lie. you
said you were lonely.
half-truths are the essence
of symbiotic relationships, your
fingers trailing along my hips,
glacier blue eyes holding me
still. the rapids churned. god
cried for me that afternoon.
he was selfish, too.
sunshine shakingmorse code upon collarbones and
sun-bleached smiles. she
wasn't ready. she wasn't ready.
he had open arms like
the song about the london bridge;
chlorine baptized him a new
man. innocent, innocent,
what did you see
when you kissed her? the
pearls upon the waves, the
silence upon the shore. was it
quiet enough to hear
the break? thunderous blue, the
chasms of her eyes.
present, in the body
that doesn't fit, I watched
you murder the sky. I wasn't ready
you are my bruises. welts
along my wrists, fingertips
dancing on my neck. bluebird,
you were a midnight mistake
leaking over the next morning.
you wept and all
the world called you beautiful;
we kissed the naked silence between your bones,
we watched you drown yourself in vodka and not-so-
secrets, and we brought you back to life;
we held you as you quaked
like a tragedy in its first bloom.
I called you beautiful,
and you used all of me
[I am as naked as the breeze, as
useless as a songbird without
a note. I am as hungry
the tide and as lonely
as the moon who calls
upon it; starlight,
you took all of me,
the negative space
I fell in love
first with the taste
of you-- good weed
and the resurrection
of unmet expectations. when
you kissed my neck, I was
alive; I was a series of
sparks in a vacuum night.
you were a million moths
blooming within my ribcage, you
were the beginning of the story
I was afraid to open. I fell in love
with the goosebumps tha
beauty is a state of mindforgiveness is the
scent the violet leaves
on the foot that stomped it;
I am beautiful in remembrance:
I am beautiful
in a body two sizes too
large, in eyes dilated
with questions (eyes
you cannot name; gray
like the ocean, blue
like the heart, green like
the fever dream I cannot
wake from) I am the
hair of a lion, a wild
thing, ignition upon
tempted glance. I am the skin
you cannot name, always fleeting;
you always see
but never truly take in.
and I know a boy
carved of ivory silence,
accidental exposurenewton’s laws never
applied to you. maybe
tomorrow won’t come, and
we will always be a
few gestures short of
you are that glint
on the edge of the
flirtation of a star, of
a wish whispered
into skin that
cannot listen. I
traced so many apologies into
your spine; Dear Amy, my
body is an empty bookshelf
and I’m sorry I couldn’t
give you a perfect ending.
Dear Amy, you are more than
the hands that hollowed you
and made you quiet. Dear Amy,
stunted emotional development
is a blessing but I’m so scared I’ll
hurt you I’m so scared I care
about you, you’re the first person
who didn’t want me selfishly,
the first person to make
there are so many shades
of blue in your eyes
I can’t capture; so many
poems caught in your
hair. I dreamt about you
every night this week;
I was the monster hiding
under your bed.
unrealistic ideologies of an
are toxic; breathing
is a chore. there is
a careful warmth in the
combined effort of
we are the forgotten.
we are the tangled limbs
and childhood stories for
a more sensitive future; we
are the longing, we are
we are measured
in the people we touch;
and I will love you
in the UV light of
hide and seek paranoia.
I love you in the red shimmer
of harbored dreams, I love you
in the industrial gl
unarticulatedtonight I ask myself:
where are you going with all these names
in your pockets? syllables that taste
unauthentic in the desperate American
repression is a series of images
earthbound angels breathing
flame, starving hands speaking
in tongues, glazed eyes
asking are you fucking okay
pale skin becoming moonlight,
reflecting and refracting and
the quiet understatement
car crash on an empty roadit happened before
we did. it was more a person
than you or I or that boy
in the park trying
to convince us to
stupid. it happened
before your smile
cracked the sky in half, before
our laughters slurred into
a dissonant song, before
your fingers traced the stories
lying on my face before I knew
just how many pieces of sunshine
were trapped in your hair before
the walls became the ceiling and
I wasn’t claustrophobic.
things I remember:
the red blur of your room like
God was experimenting with the
symbolism in abstract art, the
tri-tone shimmering of your eyes
like the surface of the water, the way
you defined perfection as a scale of
women ending with a less than sensible
me, the way you always moved like
you were dancing and no one was there to
in which I gain sentiencesave room
for doubt, in the silence between
religious guilt and stolen
body heat. I am made of helium.
in my dreams they
pop me and
watch me flutter. I wonder if everyone
else’s head is so congested as mine,
hyperactive with inattentive people.
you are never serious--
he stares at me in a different
set of eyes; there are words
I cannot say, there are
things I cannot tell you.
(twice a week
I watch the people I love
leave me for good.
spiders in my throat,
twitterlight oblivioni remember we had a picnic once,
on a melting summer day.
the roses spilled their fragrance,
the petals spiralling away.
we spent the morning in the sunlight,
and the evening under the moon.
the fireflies flew their drunken flight
while the lovebirds began to croon.
a glassful of spicy chai,
a pocketful of sky,
that day i picked a bouquet of happinesses,
just for you and I.
Forgive Me, My LoveForgive me, my love, for I had loved you too much
I always did know you could not give nothing back
I wish I had kept all the feelings in my heart,
And just accepted there is a lot that I lack.
Forgive me, my love, I hope you hold me no grudge;
I never did wish your affections be denied;
My longing for you must have exhausted your soul
Thus I never got the attention I desired.
Forgive me, my love, it was my heart that was weak;
It often did fall for ones who could not catch it;
It would be ready to rise and climb up again,
Only when it had found someone else to break it.
Forgive me, my love, it was my mind that was meek;
It seldom did speak but when it did it saved me;
It was mute when I felt like I did not need it,
Hence making me helpless as I could ever be.
Forgive me, my love, we both know it was my fault;
I only did stop loving when it tore all our seams;
I had always been told that it would hurt us both,
And that you would not spare me any of your dreams.
Forgive me, my love, if
There might be usYou might take take a walk with him by the river.
Yeah, he might just take you for a walk.
And you might admire blooming cherry slivers.
And he might take your hand and even sweet talk.
You might go to movies with him, once in a while.
Yeah, he might just take you to movies sometimes.
He might make you laugh, you might make him smile.
And he might even kiss you when the hall dimes.
You might sit and talk to him for hours.
Yeah, he might just listen to you talk.
You might bake him cookies, he might buy you flowers.
You might even feel safe when he kisses you goodnight.
You might share a week with him; or a month, or two.
Yeah, he might just let you stay around.
You might even think you can make him love you.
He might even let you believe you are right.
To give him your whole world, you might even dare.
Yeah, he might just say 'I love you' a couple of times.
For some time, he might even pretend he cares.
For some time, you might even believe he does.
Cinnamon Skin The scent of cinnamon strong,
tickling my nostrils,
playful and dangerous.
and a water,
a sanctuary to a certain few.
The perfume that heats my cheeks,
and brightens my days.
Glorious in its tan,
and sweet in its flavor.
Your cinnamon skin,
With each kiss,
your flavor sticks on my tongue,
and the sun shines brighter.
EightThe whistling wind blows with a sweet aroma,
Causing flower and blade of grass to bow.
The clouds hid the sun for a moment,
But the glory of the day would not allow.
As the birds rang out in harmony,
Further along, in a piney forest,
Waved prickly needles and spiny cones
Swaying with the sound of the chorus.
And there, in a meadow, on soft earth I sat
Looking across the way at his teasing eyes.
He smiled at me, then turned away
As my heart screamed out with anxious cries.
It rises from down within me-
My love for him, I can't deny;
I cannot hide what's true inside
No matter how hard I truly try.
He takes up my every thought-
I'm surely falling in love-
While being with this boy
Under deep blue skies above.
Better ForgottenYou keep asking me questions
But you're holding my breath
All I want is a rescue
But I'm drowning in death
All the flowers are wilting
As the dark grows around
Thought the ice might be melting
But it just fell to the ground
Had your own misconceptions
Of what this might be like
With so many directions
How could we both find the light
All the sweetness has rotten
And it's bitter and tough
It's all better forgotten
Than forced on for this love
thief of wordsyour piercing silence stabs my head
the eyes that I loved are closed forever
now our moments are flowing in the paper
but my literature needs more words
so I write yours like if they were mine
to fill the blank parts of my soul
that is the destiny of the broken poets
A letter to KaosuEveryday and every night I think of you...
Everyday I always ask myself will I see you again...?
But at least I know he loves me...
No matter what I'm doing or where I am I always this of you...
You, my love...
Even if I'm not alone I still think of you...
Even when I'm in a birthday party I always tell myself "if only you were here..."
I never felt for someone this way before~
A Silent SonnetHearts fill with longing for what is not theirs-
tempting, enticing like only addicts know.
Desperately pushed to the point of despair,
this fluttery stomach is now their worst foe!
Secrets left screaming upon airtight lips,
they refuse to slip, mustn't endanger
true meaning in those very "subtle" quips
which, try as they might- refuse to waver.
So giving up may seem the only choice
in this defeat. But that would mean to lose
the most precious treasure. They hold their voice
and silence their souls, becoming subdued.
There's pain in each agonizing moment,
but worth it for every shared instant spent.
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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